Artificial Intelligence
by Charles Xavier
Summary: Godo Kisaragi has passed away, leaving a robot creation named Yuffie Kisaragi behind. Knowing that she would die in a matter of time, Yuffie seeked the fantastic possibilty to become a real life human...until one day, she met a war machine named Vincent.
1. Prologue: Revelations

Author's Note: May I first point out that this story has NO relation with the Steven Spielberg movie 'AI', depsite the theme's similarity. This was actually an idea I had thought about long before the movie was made. And with great thanks to Kittie I've finally been able to get this story under way. But I will admit that I got a little inspiration from the anime series 'Key The Metal Idol'.

Kittie, thank you so much again for spending time to write this fic with me. Let's hope we can both pull through this together! ^_^

**_Introduction_**

Artificial: Made or contrived by art; produced or modified by human skill and labor, in opposition to natural.

Intelligence: The act or state of knowing; the exercise of the understanding.

The Planet is a world where mankind could walk and explore life's wonders. It is a world where one has to learn how to survive, and it was a world where it was once peaceful. For at one year, a deadly plague had unexpectedly struck the people, a plague carried upon by rats from the citys' sewers that had spread all across the world. Slowly, they were able to infect everyone and everything with their disease. It being so severe, so contagious, that half of the population fell into unpleasant deaths. Animals, plants and humans died one after another, uncontrollably. Towns became deserted and forever lost. Cities grew more concerned about this matter. The death toll rose fast, and mankind's only hope was to find a single cure to end this chaos. 

Then, after a year of hard struggle, a remedy was finally found by a man named Dr. Hojo. At last lives were saved and people found the salvation they had dreamed for, yet it helped nothing to truly heal the scars that the plague had made. Thus, came the next step of world technology: the Age of Machines. 

Thanks to the intelligence of the Shinra Corporation, mechanical machines were created throughout the Planet. They were programmed to be obedient, loyal and not rebellious, with only a sole purpose in life: to serve their human masters. There had been no machine ever designed that could realize the morals of birth, life and death. They were made as heartless beings that could not experience how humans thought.

The Shinra and many people had claimed it to be impossible to create an intelligent robot. For they knew that even the most sophisticated robotic invention couldn't acquire human-like emotions and understanding in any way. But there are times that even the unthinkable can happen.

This is a story about a robot, the first and rarest robot ever inherited with the ability to have feelings…

**_Artificial Intelligence_**

**_By Charles Xavier And Kittie_**

A faint slant of light filled the slate-grey room with an impending sense of dissolution. Opposed to most rooms of its extravagant size, this one seemed more sinister, ominous. The silence drowned out any opposition, even the faint echo of a sigh. 

The neutral floor tiles complemented the cold atmosphere. Statues of godlike titans resided within the four corners of the room, each with a distinctive motif. The chiseled beings contrasted the room's bland colours. Jade, sapphire, agate, and brimstone were carefully molded down with accurate precision-the bestial qualities captured within the frigid stone. 

Frosted lamplights hung in two parallel rows, the meticulous pattern satisfying the average symmetrical fanatic. The dull illumination did little to chase away the shadows lurking throughout the mute office. Darkness, it seemed, had the upper hand within the congested space, damning all illuminate. 

The drab setting with its abstract sense of style was truly daunting to the average human mind. On the other hand, it was proficient for the occupants within its silent space. Men dressed in formal business suits, all matching in the same dull charcoal-grey, sat silently in the leather-bound seats. Their conformity with clothing was not the only physical similarity. Most donned the same lackluster visage of indifference-their hollow eyes not reflecting a fragment of concern. 

Their silent stares lay upon the being in front of them. Like an apathetic jury, they dissected the man before them with self-righteous indignation. Truly, one who had transgressed against their employer as this poor, deluded insect had would surely be dealt with this time. 

Whatever their comparison in thoughts, it was not their place to cast a verdict. No, that was their beloved president's duty. Like an unexpected ripple upon a peaceful pond, their gazes turned to the man at the center of the table. 

Dressed in a lighter shade of grey, the president was the only life form that stood out within the monotonous room. From the boyish façade he maintained, to the childlike grin upon his ashen face, Rufus Shinra, son of the late president, held the attention of all with the impatient tapping of his fingers. 

A pallid hand rested under the slender chin as another snort of boredom escaped him. Devil-incarnate suited the young leader's physical attributes. With his golden mane sleeked back in today's ideal of masculine beauty, the steely-eyes of fathomless azure complemented his prone nature. 

"Your meandering drollery certainly has an inopportune effect, Reeve." The deep, masculine voice teased with cool alacrity. "Perhaps your hesitation will get somewhere before the evening is out?" 

The cool air teased his sweaty palms as he stood a shy ten feet away from his president. Reeve lowered his eyes to the tiled floor, the smooth grey surface not giving him the comfort he needed. The informant mutely shook his head in an uncertain manner, as unruly strands of sable covered his obsidian gaze. 

It was damned annoying when his hair would obscure his poor sight, even when greased into a sleek fashion that women bowled over. However, his homely appearance was not the concerning topic for the moment—a very pissed off president was. 

"Many apologies, President, but I have only come across this discovery lately. I found it important to investigate the circumstances behind the matter before acting upon it." He risked a glance at his irate benefactor, and quickly added, "Just to be certain the company does not undergo an unnecessary pursuit." 

A blonde brow rose in suspicion. "Circumstances?" He questioned with mock-concern. "Then do tell us," he nodded to the rest of the company officials. "I'm sure this will be rather interesting, my good man." 

"Shinra has led many private operations over the years, most from the fields of Science and Technology. The company has acquired many new developments within these areas." He gestured toward the table, harbouring numerous sets of equipment. 

"The development of Mako treatments for the Soldiers, and bodily enhancements has placed Shinra upon the map of industry. The growing monopolies the company has accumulated over the years have forced rival competitors into extinction. Shinra—" 

"Is this going somewhere in that round-about speech of yours, Reeve?" The president asked with minute indifference. "I grow tired of this unending babble! Get to the bloody point, if you please?" 

A strained muscle appeared at the older man's temple. "Very well, sir." He added curtly. "Do you remember the project over artificial intelligence?" 

The young leader's blue gaze gleamed with equivocal remembrance. "Vaguely." 

"We had aid from overseas, Wutai to be exact." 

"Oh, that province east of here, I remember now. A certain doctor was supposed to aid the Science Department with a special chemical for machines." His impenetrable gaze gave no hint of enthusiasm. "I closed the project after my father unfortunately passed away." 

Reeve did not comment upon the death of the former President Shinra—the condition of the body still held question of an actual suicide. Instead, he nodded in agreement. "Yes, sir. However, I have been recently informed that the project still proceeded after your closing. It seems that there was a breakthrough in the experiment, and that it has been purposely hidden from the company." He turned his tense gaze to the floor, hoping to evade the inquiry within his employer's eyes. 

"And you have sent emissaries to secretly investigate the good doctor?" A brief smile replaced the frown. "And to think, I believed you incapable to act so professionally, Reeve! Please, consider my humblest apologies. It seems I misjudged you upon your capability of spying upon former employees." He paused for a moment, waiting to see the strand of sweat fall from his informant's temple. "So, what did you find out? The man has created some kind of scientific wonder?" 

A new sense of vigor filled him as he boldly eyed his employer. "Indeed, sir. Actually, 'scientific wonder' would be putting it mildly." A small grin replaced the grimace. "For the past seventeen years, Godo Kisaragi has been covertly working on a project dealing with artificial intelligence. The brief information I have over his operations suggests that he has created a new chemical that can actually give a machine the ability to think and act without the aid of humans. 

"This advancement certainly places our company behind his genius in the scientific field. I fear that the 'good doctor' will not allow any outside intervention with his work, not even his past employers." Reeve shook his head in visible uncertainty. "I understand this information could be nothing more than mere false interpretation, but what if it's not?" 

The blonde president gave no indication of worry or interest. Instead, a small, childlike smile touched his lips. "If what you say is true, Reeve, then Doctor Kisaragi's enigmatic venture should be unveiled." Lust gleamed within his azure eyes. "It is very selfish of him to keep his generous, former employers in ignorance." 

Rufus' icy gaze penetrated the invisible steel barrier between he and his loyal informant. His right hand casually dusted away a stray golden lock, the absent-minded gesture intended to unnerve the man standing precariously in front of him. A jaded sigh escaped him when he finally broke the lingering silence. "If it will appease you, Reeve, I'll send someone to investigate." 

"But I already—" 

Rufus interjected with a raised hand. "Reeve, Reeve," he chided in a paternal tone. "I want this examined personally. Do not worry your pretty little head, your president has not lost his mind—yet." A mock grin traced his lips. 

Turning his attention away from the man sputtering before him, he idly pressed a button upon the inactive receiver. "Scarlet, would you please contact the Turks, and have them sent to my office immediately." 

"Reeve," the blonde-headed president eyed him with direct assurance, his visible poise convincing. "I believe Tseng and the others can take it from here. Trouble yourself no further, my friend." 

Reeve held back a shudder as his employer watched him like a wolf lusting for its prey. The childlike gaze within the president's azure gaze held malice and something sinister, almost too macabre to place into words. What kind of sick pleasure did the young industry leader do after work, he wondered. 

He subtly shook the thought from his conscience before turning to see the office door open. A dark-headed man—certainly of Wutainese descent—entered, followed by a large, robust man who sported a dark pair of sunglasses, and a baldhead. Two others followed their predecessors' suit. A lean, pale-faced male sporting fiery auburn hair, with a bent cigarette placed flaccidly behind his right ear, held the attention of a petite, blonde female. Their snide remarks about the other could be heard from Reeve's viewpoint. 

"Tseng," Rufus greeted dryly. "It's good of you to come on such short notice." 

The leader bowed respectfully. "Our services to you will always be of utmost importance, especially punctuality." 

"Indeed. Anyway, I have called you and the others for a rather…unexpected investigation." He eyed him critically. "It has come to the company's attention that one of our former employees has actually withheld certain information after the close of a development project. His work—which was promoted by Shinra—has indeed been used against company regulations. I find it rather important that you examine this situation—but do it discreetly. I do not desire anyone aware of our investigation. I understand you and the others will conduct this matter inconspicuously, since that is your qualified profession. I want you to find out anything of relative importance that may be useful for our knowledge, and anything that isn't. Leave no information out, Tseng. I want a full report on my desk within two weeks. I believe that is plenty of time to accomplish this task?" 

Tseng silently nodded. "Yes, sir. I will have everything to you within that time." 

An impish smile melded his ashen lips. "Good. I know I can depend upon your services, Tseng. You may begin your assignment today." He waved them of, albeit rather carelessly. "Good luck. I do hope your investigation is successful." 

With a curt nod, the leader of the Turks turned to his agents and silently beckoned them to follow. Shutting the door behind him, he muttered, "I suppose this delays our time asking for a few days off." 

"Wutai, of places." The diminutive blonde said with disdain. "Tseng, why didn't you say something?" Her somber expression revealed disappointment. 

"Elena, you forget your place," he reprimanded her, his obsidian eyes showing no remorse for the cool admonishment. "Rufus ShinRa and the company comes first—and above our personal lives. We must do as ordered, do you understand?" 

What remained of her austere bravado was now gone, her fiery gaze silenced at its abrupt climax. "I understand," she muttered in a demure manner. "I apologize for my immature conduct and thoughtless wishes. It will not happen again, Tseng." 

"Elena," he addressed in a gentler voice, the subtle apology revealing itself. "Listen, I only—" 

"I know you were only going by 'The Code'. I understand that I should be reprimanded when I act of out-of-line. Thank you for reminding me where my place is." With this, she gave a curt nod of appreciation, and left them. 

Tseng watched her retreating figure with dismay. A solemn sigh escaped him; his obsidian eyes cast to the floor in shame. He would never fully understand the wry mechanics of the feminine mind, nor would he ever discover what made them upset when it came to their welfare. 

"Pay no mind to 'Lena, she'll take her anger out on a poor target dummy, and then be back to her old self." Reno assured him with a promising smile. 

The Turk leader looked at him with false belief. "I somehow doubt she'll forgive me for being such an ass, Reno. She hates me with every fibre of her being, and all I wanted was to look out for her." 

Reno clapped a hand on his leader's shoulder. "Ah, such is the way with the feminine mind—always an oddity." A slight chuckle escaped him. "Don't worry, she'll forget the entire matter, and be all over you again—though I cannot see why!" 

"Edwards, you forget yourself." Tseng reminded him in an autocratic tone. 

"Like I could forget?" Turning his attention to Rude, he muttered, "Come on, we need to leave our esteemed leader to more important matters—namely petite blondes and paperwork—while the joys of friendly, female company and alcohol call to us." 

Ignoring his cocky comrade, Rude turned his shaded gaze to the agitated Turk. "Do you need our assistance with anything, Sir?" 

"No," he said in an exasperated tone. "Go and enjoy yourselves—but not too much! We still have to depart for Wutai today. Please remember that we have to do this mission sober." 

Reno gave Tseng another arrogant smile. "Humbly, Tseng. We won't let you down!" 

Tseng watched his fellow Turks disappear down the corridor. "That's what I'm afraid of," he muttered to himself, and headed to his office to complete a stack of paperwork—and figure out the best way to approach a certain irate blonde. Odin, he needed more than charismatic grace to be on her good graces once more. Perhaps some subtle way of enjoyment would pull her out of her fuming mood. 

It was worth a try. 

****

Amber rays of sunlight melded with the darkening landscape. Ominous shadows filed out of the dark crevices where the persistent beams did not touch, as if proclaiming silent victory against their retreating foe. The dying serenity withdrew itself from the impending enemy, as if conducting a final effort to survive the darkness' relentless pursuit. 

This battle was as old as time—the fiery dance between two opposing forces seeking solace and domination within the other always ended in an abrupt stalemate. Time was the referee within this age-old melee. Time, who set the rules and boundaries into motion since the beginning. 

All elements had to abide by the rules their stoic benefactor provided. If not, such denial could not go unpunished. Life and Death even bent themselves to the indomitable element. How could a force stop something that was the basis of infinity, unending, forever? Nothing above a deity over all could force the tacit-turn being into its rightful place. 

For millennia, many life forms coexisted with others, never breaking the critical cycle of life. It was natural to live and die, to breath the air, and adapt to a specific climate. The simplistic style of life was never questioned—it was merely the way things were, the way things were meant to be, and the way things would always be. 

Whether by the will of divine intervention, or a cosmic accident, life endured. Adaptation was common, and evolution was a slow-moving process. Yes, the fragile structure of the world was concrete, stable. Until the age of humans. 

However, the plight of humanity was of no concern to the elements, nor to idolized gods. The downfall of man would be by his own hand, not by a disease, or the wrath of Mother Nature. No, something more elite, more advanced would take the place of man; making humanity's stand against the universe obsolete. 

The mysticism and ideologies of man would be forgotten in a torrent of time. As each year progressed, the inevitable fall of humanity was one step closer to the edge, the break-off within sight. The cries of injustice would be answered with a fair verdict: humankind would suffer as others had suffered. It was just a matter of time… 

Detached, cerulean eyes stared into the sunny skies of the day. The day—like others before it—could be deemed beautiful. Well, by humanity's standards, anyway. It was rather unobtrusive to understand the logic behind the mind of a human. Not that it was any concern to others, of course. But, somehow it was semi-interesting to question the actions of such a primitive race. 

The technological advances within the past century had proven that perhaps men where indeed masters of their own fate. Perhaps a divine authority could not dictate the mere life of a mortal, but stand aside and watch as its protégé destroyed itself. The comprehension behind one's fate to die in an accident, or fall victim to a murderer's knife, was justified only in the means of free will. 

War and peace were mere concepts—conjectures—of the innate mind to justify the rights and actions of humanity. Laws preventing such misconduct were nothing more but words on paper. Man would always be a primitive creature with the lust and will to dominate all around him. World domination was truly man's weakness—the fault lay within such inescapable desires. Morality and the self-will of kindness were only myths of the naïve imagination. The idea of purity and civil conduct toward others for the greater good was nothing more than pitiful ideas of grandeur. 

It was daunting to understand the fickle mind of man. 

A cool sigh escaped her. This matter was too trivial and time consuming. And yet, it always intruded upon her logical thoughts. The condensed system of her mind was not modeled to question the abstract actions of others—it was meant be accepted. 

Her colleagues were most likely wondering where she was this very moment. They're false concern was like a cool stab in the side—neither comforting nor assuring. If they questioned her abrupt disappearance, and shown the reluctant desire to search for her, they were welcome to look. However, it was unlikely their grand pursuit would be fruitful. 

They would not consider the probability of her being above their brainless heads. Rooftops were very adequate places to hide from the inquisitive world. Besides, the human mind had its boundaries. Using a mere fraction of ten percent of an organic computer was such a waste. The myriad of possibilities the individual's brain had was endless. 

If only one could unlock such a treasure… 

Oh, well, it was not her concern, anyway. Actually, nothing within the educational system—taught by humans—was of any interest. She had the knowledge of someone thrice her age, or so her father proudly proclaimed. 

Her emotionless façade did not alter from its stony visage. Emotions were trivial, human. However, the thoughts of her father were kinder than to those of a complete stranger. At least, he was interesting. The man who had guided her through this tedious life, shown more than what others had. It was as if there was some sort of bond between them. However, clichéd it might be. 

The school alarm echoed its siren-like call, acknowledging the time for dismissal. She hesitated briefly, eyeing the serene atmosphere of the rocky hills within the distance. Nature was indeed beautiful, albeit a little out-of-date and primordial. It was still intriguing to observe life from an ascetic perspective. 

She reserved an unneeded sigh and pulled herself from her lax position. Really, the cool, concrete surface of the school's roof was indeed comforting—better than sitting in a vertical position all day. The confinement within a metal desk chair tended to lose the appealing luster as time slowed to a crawl. Six hours in such a precarious position would bereft the most pious person. 

Unfortunately, she could not claim such saintly behaviour. Nor would she try to. It was one thing to betray the iniquities of showing emotion, but quite another when committing the ultimate of blasphemy and displaying an out-of-character façade in front of others. People who felt so bloody insecure about their self should be dealt with, or at least hidden from view. 

It was unattractive to see the harsh ruins society had made itself to be. True, humanity was at its perpetual climax, but the small, insignificant faux pas civilization created would inevitably fall into oblivion. Very soon the small cracks within the allegedly indestructible foundation would wear and crumble, leaving only fragments of what made it once so grand. 

Shaking aside the cryptic evaluation, she made her way home. 

****

Home. It was such a quaint little word. The definition was simply: where a person or family in a household live. Home. She could not admit that her lifestyle fit that definition. 

Actually, the only people who were true residents of such a household were she and her father. Well, not including the servants and employees under them. If included, the number would rank with a lowly sum of thirteen—not counting the field hands and gardeners. 

Although her father used to be involved with many arcane science projects, the love of the scientific world never ceased to amaze the middle-aged scientist, and would ultimately be his occupation until the end of his days. His passion, his dedication was noted within his work. 

Lord Kisaragi, although not as affluent like his former employers, still maintained a small lap of luxury. At least he could offer her a decent education and a comfortable living space. That, in its self, was above most of the surrounding townspeople's lives. 

Most were not so fortunate. The power-hungry companies from far away continents used Wutai's abundant lands as a testing ground. New technological advancements and ideas came off of an assembly line of genius. Many Wutainese residents watched as foreign hands built structures that held scientific instruments and know-how. 

It was common knowledge that many weapons of destruction were assembled and shipped to other areas of the world. Where they went and their purpose was clearly confidential. The common residents spread unreliable gossip that there was more than research going on behind the enormous, steel double-doors. Something unnatural was behind them, waiting to destroy all within its path. Man could only go so far before its wondrous creation would destroy him. 

Indifference filled her as she took another step. It did not matter if human testing was a normal occurrence within the ashen building. The only relief from such an ominous presence was that no one she knew worked for the furtive Shinra Industry. 

Something akin to dismay filled her. She did not trust them. Nor did she have the desire to see if her inhibitions were correct. It was best to stay away and mind one's business. Besides, the company had never shown interest in her, or any of the citizens before. Why would they now? 

They wouldn't. What did such a lowly, ignorant people know other than being a farming community? The rest of the world assumed the stereotyped profile of an uncivilized heathen tribe could never outmatch those with a better standard of life. Truly, the very thought of such a meager race overcoming the modern world was simply ludicrous. 

She discarded the random thought the moment her father's ornate mansion came into focus. The pagoda's claret roof contrasted the darkly tented tope walls. Windows of stained glass absorbed the sun's radiant beams, giving the interior marble floors an artful sibilance of balance. Hoar-white stone slabs immersed itself with a myriad of colours, giving the observer a deep perception of the proprietor's household. 

Statues of serpentine deities from myths loomed near the gate, as if warding off any unwelcome guests. The massive stone structures glared at her, vehemence showing within their obsidian eyes, as she silently passed them. 

To the average mind, the immense statues would either awe or strike fear within their mortal hearts. It did not surprise her when new acquaintances of her father would reflect unease the moment they stepped through the threshhold. Truthfully, the sense of derision was a front the old scientist constructed to partially amuse, and wary his guests. 

She did not see the reason in constructing such trivial notions of enjoyment. But, her father was notorious for his morose sense of humour. Not that it mattered to her. He would always have that peculiar glint of satisfaction within his eyes when his indulgence exceeded his expectations. 

It was the way her father was, she supposed. The way he would always be: half serious, half repartee, and fully charismatic. His quick temper whenever something was amiss would dissipate the moment his mind found another subject to concern itself with. Actually, Lord Kisaragi rarely dwelled on anything disconcerting—he merely cast it aside. 

Some believed his careless way of dealing with things through the wondrous technique of evasion would be his downfall. However, it was very doubtful he would fall because of his preference to procrastinate a problem. What the brainless people of Wutai—or rather, the world—did not know was he handled his problems and obligations by his artful manner. 

By his evasion, he confused and berated his adversaries, bringing them to heel with ease. Godo Kisaragi was truly a genius of manipulation. He even outwitted his former employers with the skilled notion that he was a lunatic, and had the pleasure of being dismissed. Well, with a handsome paycheck for his loyal service. The idiots did not realize they allowed their best scientist get away with the knowledge others lacked. It was such a pity to lose such intellect. 

Ah, well, it was for the better, she was certain. Had he remained, she would have never understood the alleged bond between parent and child. Not that she felt one, but at least it was a small assurance to know she had such contact when others were lucky to have a moment's recognition from their negligent parents. 

Her cerulean gaze focused upon the wooden double doors. She hesitated, feeling a slight sense of disorder. It was somewhat odd to feel unease when she went through the same routine of coming home each day. However, today, something was different. 

The corpulent door silently opened, revealing a space of darkness. Her sensitive eyes glared into the opaque void, as if sensing something wrong within the atmosphere. Of course, whatever dilemma lay within the soundless depths of the entrance, she would unveil its hidden secret. 

The air was tranquil, placid. Inside the darkened corridor, she felt the stifled breeze trace her ashen cheeks, the short russet strands of hair cascaded against her face. Her acute hearing sensed nothing. Silence dominated the household as if harbouring an ill omen from its owner. The stillness troubled her. The Kisaragi residence was never this quiet. 

Something was wrong; she could feel it. 

"My lady, is that you?" A shaky female voice whispered within the darkness. 

"Yes, Chekhov. Yuffie is here." 

A staggered sigh of relief permeated through the cool air. "Thank the gods you've returned!" 

"Where is father?" Yuffie questioned, not showing a fleck of concern within her smooth voice. 

The striking of a match echoed throughout the silent hall. Chekhov carefully placed the fragile flame against an old candle. The dancing light reflected the middle-aged woman's wrinkles within its weak flames—a stray tear followed the solemn expression she obtained. "Oh, Miss Yuffie," she mumbled under jagged words, her speech revealing something dire. 

"What is the matter?" 

"He…he…that is to say…oh, darling, your father…Lord Godo…he's…dead." Chekhov wiped away a strand of tears. "Oh, my lady, I'm so sorry." 

Yuffie revealed nothing as the old housekeeper cried before her. Question and disbelief filled her, as she sort through the cluttered information her middle-aged compatriot gave her. Her father was dead? How could such a thing be? This morning he appeared to be in perfect condition, his health rivaling that of a thirty-year-old. 

How could death come to one so active? This was not logical. There had to be a mistake. Godo Kisaragi was not dead—he couldn't be. 

"He left you this." Chekhov muttered, breaking her senseless denial. "He wanted you to play it the moment you arrived. He said he needed you to understand everything before he…" 

The silent female placed a semi-comforting hand upon her servant. "Yuffie understands," she murmured with a slight edge of apathy. 

Chekhov felt the icy flesh of her lady when she retrieved the tape. Nodding silently, she left the emotionless girl to her privacy. Whatever was on that tape, was her affair, not that of a middle-aged maid. 

Yuffie glanced at the blank tape within her hand. So, Lord Godo's final request for her was to watch this tape. She would obey his wishes without question. 

****

Sliding the tape within the recorder, she mechanically turned on the blank screen and watched the fuzzy image of her father appear. Her blue eyes observed the man upon the screen with a vacant expression; this was not her father. The man on the screen looked paler, emaciated. The proud, ramrod stature was lax and ghastly. His dark beard seemed greyer than it had been. But, most disturbing of all, the comforting glow within his eyes was gone—the hollow depths of obsidian were lackluster and empty, soulless. 

She watched when he gasped for air, choking on blood as he so. His coughing bout ceased, and he turned his attention toward the screen. Yuffie felt as if he were staring at her with his intense eyes. "Yuffie," he began in his oh-so familiar tone. 

"Yuffie, when you watch this tape, you will know that I am dead." He cast his eyes from the camera, as if in shame. Turning back, he quickly added, "Yuffie, you must know the cause of my death. The Turks—Shinra's private assassins—saw to my demise. I was lucky when they left me for dead, and my servants found me in time to record this final message." Another jagged breath escaped him. 

"Yuffie, you must know some things that I've not told you; things I didn't want you to know." He hesitated, albeit briefly. "You are a robot—a machine—that I constructed seventeen years ago. Your body does not grow by itself. Every year, I assemble a new one to replace the other, so nothing seems out of place. I am able to transfer all of your recorded memories and data with ease." 

"Your blood is not an average human's, my dear. It is a special blend that I have created. No one other than myself has this unique concoction. People—dangerous people—would kill to have even a drop of its contents, Yuffie." He spoke gravely. "These people saw to my end since I refused to give over this creation. The truth is, I couldn't. I couldn't give up something that I made especially for my daughter." 

"Yuffie, I understand this is rather hard for you to accept. And I am a damned fool for keeping this secret from you. I just did not know how to break this to you. I planned on telling you when you reached a certain age, but even then, I couldn't." 

"I know that you will probably never forgive me for my recklessness, but I wanted to believe that you were my daughter—my real daughter. And so that is what you shall become—what you must become. You have to become a real girl in order to survive." 

"That means overcoming the thoughts and ideologies of your mechanical nature. I never considered the consequences of not storing true, human emotions within your system, and that is my failure as a scientist—and father." 

"Becoming human will be a hard task, but you must, Yuffie." Another gasp escaped him. "I have researched a plausible way, and have found it. In order for you to accomplish this, you must find the means to love another human being. However, that is not enough. They must love you in return for you to become fully human. If not, your batteries will run out and your mechanical body will deteriorate and die." 

"I'm sorry to say that you only have a limited amount of time to accomplish this." He looked away from the screen. "What I truly wanted in life was to have a child to love. I never realised the joy it brought until I had you. Yuffie, you were always real to me, but you must become so for the rest of the world." 

He gazed at her pleadingly. "My time is drawing near. Promise me you will do as I say this final time. Promise you will become a real girl, and find someone to love and take care of you. Make your father proud, daughter. I…love you…" 

The great lord and scientist faintly smiled and closed his eyes, never again seeing the world. 

The screen returned to its normal snowy picture. Yuffie ejected the tape from the recorder and eyed it. She gently traced the smooth, black surface with her cool fingers. "Yuffie promises," she murmured softly. "Yuffie shall go into the world and find a way, father." 

Shaking her head, she put the tape in a desk drawer, and left the room. She quietly escaped to her bedroom and closed the door. Her eyes scanned the sparsely furnished room with abject interest. She would have to leave this place to find her answers, and keep the promise she made to her father. 

She searched her memory banks to find someone she knew, someone she could trust. Throughout her life, Yuffie was rarely viewed as little more than a person. She had no friends except one. Tifa. Yes, the dark-haired girl who used to go to school with her when they were children. 

Tifa was the only person her age that seemed to have anything to do with her. With her sincerity and cheerful demeanor, she treated Yuffie as an equal. It would be nice to see the face of an old friend who seemed to understand her differences. Yes, Tifa would be the perfect person to aid her on this quest—she was sure of it. 

She pulled herself away from the bed, and began to pack a bag. She would need a change of clothes, at least. People would most likely find her odd to wear the same attire every day. Well, that was what her father and Chekhov proclaimed. 

Chekhov. Yes, she would have to leave a decent note for the maid to not worry over her sudden departure. The poor woman had enough heartbreak over her master's death. Well, she would do this trite errand since it was expected of her. 

After she finished packing the small bag of clothing, she quietly shut the door and went into Godo's room. Nothing in the room was out of place except for the large figure upon the bed. A dark sheet covered the prone form which lay motionless, the dark bloodstain spreading on the sheet. 

Yuffie mechanically pulled the sheet away from her father's corpse. Eyeing it with remote concern, she gently traced the soft, worn lines of his face. His flesh was already accepting death's cool touch. She placed her delicate hand in his, and traced a kiss upon his cool forehead. "Don't worry, father. Yuffie will honour your promise, and become what you always wanted." She hesitated a moment, staring at the stiff body. "Yuffie forgives you." 

She returned the sheet to its rightful place and left the room. Her silent stride took her beyond the main doors and past the main gate of the mansion. Looking back, she eyed the dark manor critically. This would be the last time she would be here. Wutai held nothing for her now—of that, she was certain. 

Her eyes observed the darkening landscape, the tiny lights of the small village beyond giving a claming effect. A sigh escaped her as she look above, the radiant illumination from a blanket of stars gave her the motivation to move forward. Her father would want her to move on, and never look back. The past would never have the answers she was looking for, only the broad horizon before her. 

And so, with confident steps she moved onward. Onward, to an unknown world that would have the answers to her questions, and perhaps a way to keep her promise. She would find it out there—she was certain of it. 

Author's Note: Yes, I'm sure all of you are wondering why Yuffie is seriously out of character. Well, if I told you that, then I'd spoil the whole plot, wouldn't I? So I'm afraid you'll have to wait and see! And sorry, fan girls. Don't expect to see Mr. Vincent Valentine for a while. The first half of this story focuses mainly on a strong Tifa/Yuffie friendship (NO yuri whatsoever!).


	2. Chapter 1: Reunion

**__**

Artificial Intelligence

By Charles Xavier And Kittie

__

I wander thro' each charter'd street   
Near where the charter'd Thames does flow.   
And mark in every face I meet   
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

- William Blake

Rain fell with a steadying pace, as the city streets were crowded by oblivious minds, cars and other mechanical means of transportation overran roads. The pouring rain also pelted skyscrapers and other notable buildings, their foreboding grey structures harbouring a distant sense of apathy. 

Of course, no one seemed to notice the architectural emotion of the city. Actually, one could see it as the epitome of despair. Sunlight was a rare occurrence within city limits. Most argued that it was because of the city's location being so close to the sea. Either way, rain and violent storms were the usual forecast. 

Since its humble establishment, close to a century later, Midgar—named after the mythical Middle garden—was one of the most influential cities on the planet. Technology was at its climax, the knowledge of man increasing with each passing day. 

Other cities depended heavily upon Midgar's influence with trade and commerce. If the city were to fall, the rest of the world would follow in its demise. For years, the city convinced smaller capitals that they would not survive without its exchange in commerce and protection. 

In the end, Midgar became the center of trade—where all life consisted. With this idea, most of its inhabitants considered other nations to be below their standards, the invisible arrogance and pride could be severed with a knife. 

Nevertheless, the city was needed for the rest of the world to survive, even if it aided it with ill intentions. The Shinra, although nothing more but a power company, held its sway over the city officials. In theory, they were the leaders. For the past five decades the Shinra ruled the city like a monarchy. Of course, no one seemed to care—their own meager lives were their only concern, not the rest of the world. 

It was human to care only for one's self. And like other empires, this too, would fall. The bitter irony was somewhat humorous to those who revelled in morose depictions of the future. Even a machine could find humor in the downfall of man. 

Grey eyes watched the myriad of bodies pass by, their minds filled with mindless conjectures of frivolous pleasure. It was common to observe other bask in the artificial ways of escape; drugs and alcohol proved to be most consolidating. Another drop of icy rain struck her pale cheek, the stinging effect not distressing her. Rain was like sunlight to her, not offending or important enough to recognize. Actually, the rain was like the souls passing by, oblivious to everything, except to what they meet. 

Humanity was dull. 

The thoughtful conclusion, however, did not aid her on her quest. Her friend was somewhere in this godforsaken city, and she would sift through every street, alley, and walkway, to find her. Pity, that she had the slightest idea where to look. 

The last correspondence between them was dated four years ago, and someone new was living at the address. The new occupants were of little help, not to mention discourteous. Were all humans so disgusted of their creations? She wondered. It would be a fitting punishment to have them in a machine's place—the tables turned would certainly put a dent in man's theology. 

She made her way through the congested crowd of bodies, seeing a possible means of finding her friend. A glass telephone booth stood on the corner of the next street. Shaking her waterlogged hair, she crossed the precarious road, and eyed the booth. 

The glass was cracked one side, while the others were covered with profanity and semi-detailed pornographic images, painted in flamboyant shades of orange and red. The disturbing features did not addle her. She did not cringe at the offending words and gestures—some she had never seen before—or the senseless depictions of the human body. Really, some minds could only develop so far. 

Pulling a tattered book from the small metal shelf, she fumbled through its yellowed pages. Her dull, grey eyes skimmed through various names until it rested upon one very familiar. 

Lockheart. 

Her sable brows pursed together at the name. Instead of the first name being Tifa, it was Anne. Strange. She glanced at the other names, in hopes of another Lockheart. Much to her dismay, the mysterious Anne Lockheart was the only one that was listed. 

Her mind searched for a possible answer. Tifa would not change her name, would she? If her memory served her, her friend prided herself on the name she was given, albeit it was certainly different from other names in the village. Tifa would not change her name unless she had a reason to. 

She would pay a visit to this Anne Lockheart. Perhaps she would be useful in finding Tifa. If not, she would continue her search. Either way, she had nothing to lose, or go home to. 

With a brief nod, she closed the ragged phonebook and placed it back on the metal shelf. Closing the flimsy glass door behind her, she glanced at the grey heavens. Shaking her head in silent dismay, she made her way down the busy street, silently rebuking herself for not having the information she needed. It was truly an eventful day in a city, which smelled like a sewer and felt like a joyous day in Hell. 

Life could not be any better. 

**** 

"You mean to tell me that this is all you have?" The Shinra president tossed a worn file folder to the side. "There's nothing in this that I don't know!" 

"Sir, we took everything from Kisaragi's home—his archives, his personal files, everything. We left nothing unturned." 

Rufus clenched the side of his jaw in an impatient gesture. "Tseng, I expected better from you. It appears that I was wrong to appoint the Turks to handle a simple mission." He watched Tseng flinch from his harsh reprimand. "It seems that, although you have discarded your Wutainese heritage, the same, flawed idiocy runs in your veins." 

Tseng held back an innate objection to his benefactor's cruel remark. Mentally cursing himself, he nodded and stayed silent. 

"Since I'm in a gracious mood, I will give you one more chance to find the truth behind Kisaragi's work." His unnatural aqua eyes narrowed, silently unnerving his personal assassins. "Don't fail me again." 

"It shall be done, sir." Tseng bowed in a curt manner and made a graceful exit, before his employer could see his composure collapse. 

The enormous doors closed loudly behind him, as if warning of the consequences from another failure. The antagonized leader placed his thumb and forefinger to his temples, and for a brief moment, displayed a shred of weakness. "This is the prelude to a nightmare," he muttered to himself. 

"Ya think?" Reno smirked. "Shinra will not stop until the entire world its kissing its—" 

"Reno, I don't want to hear it." Tseng cut in and moved his hand in a weary gesture. "Let's just get this mission completed as soon as possible. Remember, it is our ass _and _also our jobs on the line. Don't forget what Shinra did to the last Turk that failed them." 

Reno rolled his eyes. "Like we could forget? Come on what was that bastard's name again?" He scratched his head in mock-derision. "I fail to remember such a simple name…" 

"It's not to be said, idiot." Elena pinched his arm. 

"Woman! Do that again and I'll—" 

"Reno!" Tseng eyed him with cruel intent. "Act of line again and I will not hesitate to shoot you." 

"Yes, sir." He muttered under the warning, his gaze cast shamefully to the floor. "It will not happen again." 

Tseng turned his attention to Rude. His obsidian eyes sought comfort behind the dark shades. Truthfully, Rude was the only other Turk that held a fraction of sense—well with the exception Elena, of course. But she was not a man. 

"Rude, I want you to find out if there was anything we could have overlooked. Family members—even distant ones—medical records, anything. I don't care if it's the slightest piece of information about Kisaragi, or the people who knew him. I want you to find out everything this man interacted with." 

The tall, silent Turk nodded his bald head in agreement. "I will have everything you require in the given time." 

A faint smile traced the leader's gaunt lips. "I know you will." 

Tseng acknowledged him in silence and turned his attention to Reno. "As for you, I want you to make all of the preparations for an extending stay in Wutai. Make sure everything is in order when we arrive; I don't want to go through another bout of customs again." 

He did not wait for his comrade's opinion. Instead, he set his dark gaze on Elena. "Elena," he muttered, a small smile resting in the corner of his lips. "Would you please assist me with the rest?" 

"Certainly, sir. I—I would love, that is, honoured to." She smiled, stumbling over her words. 

"Good. I will see you after work—we have much to do." 

He did not wait for her reaction. Instead, he left them in the hall, silently questioning his arcane orders. Three sets of confused eyes stared at the descending back of their leader, a foreign exchange of confusion sent between them. Their leader was acting odd as of late. The question remained why. 

Reno was the first to break the impenetrable silence. "Well, it seems like Tseng has everything under control—as always." He cast a sceptical look at Elena. "Business meeting after work, Lena? I somehow must doubt that, even though it pangs me to." He clutched his chest in a mocking manner. "But, I'll be damned if I don't act the gentleman and not go further." 

"Reno," chocolatey eyes glared with malice. "Someday you'll wake up and realize that the world does not revolve around you, and that all of your petty attempts of making a joke will backfire. I just hope some irate victim will not take away the one thing you cannot live without"—she glanced mockingly below his waistline—"the one thing most important to you—or that is to say, what little you have working for you." 

With that, she turned on her heel and left them, a merry bounce in her step. 

"She doth make the torches burn bright!" Reno smirked with benign delight. He slid a wry glance to his brooding companion. "She's got it bad." 

A traitorous sigh escaped Rude, as he pinched the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. "Do you really find it necessary to unnerve everyone? Really, I thought you would find pleasure in something other than upsetting people." 

"Oh, come on, Rude! Without out my sense of humour, this drab, little group would pass for pallbearers. Without laughter, what would there be to live for? I mean sure it's fun to bust a cap in someone's ass, kidnap an important person, or what-have-you, but it gets old. And I refuse to have a bug up my ass like Tseng does. Rufus practically wipes the floor with him, and he says nothing!" 

"Maybe it's because Rufus will have second thought to ending his life if he does? Reno, unlike you Tseng has a responsibility. You don't have to answer to Rufus as he does, nor do you have the obligations he has. Without Tseng's constant passiveness, we wouldn't have an occupation. It would be wise to understand that." 

Reno snorted at Rude's reprimand. "I grow tired of being lectured like a child, Rude. Let's do something constructive for a change—getting drunk is always a good idea before travelling." 

"Women and alcohol are the only things on your mind." He glared at his cocky companion through his shaded lenses. 

"Lead me not into temptation—I can lead myself! Come on, the first drink is on me." He offered with a semi-sincere smile. 

Against his better judgment, Rude conceded. He knew if Tseng were to find out, there would be hell to pay, but he wouldn't—not since he would keep his friend on the straight and narrow path of not obtaining a hangover before they departed for the sunny shores of Wutai. 

With a sigh of derision, he nodded and followed Reno down the empty corridor, knowing that a drink welcomed him before heading back to a hellish, desolate place filled with nothing but canyons, pagodas, and dilapidating statues of useless gods. It was such a pleasure to visit Wutai at any time of the year—the boredom would at least keep him company. 

**** 

The pockmarked lime-green door was disconcerting. Actually, the matted carpet in the hall, the defaced white walls, and cracked windows were truly the apartment complex's main attraction. 

Yuffie stared at the idle door with a blank expression. She glanced at the metal numbers on the door; the rust encasing what was once considered a shiny hue of gold. The numbers matched that of the address in the phonebook. Certainly the mysterious Anne Lockheart lived behind this poor excuse of a door. 

Without hesitation, she lightly knocked upon its craggy surface. Her bland expression did not change to one of irritation, nor did it fade to impatience. 

Silent moments passed by as she stood expectantly in front of the door. If she had to wait until Ms. Lockheart's return, she would without censure. She had patience when the wait would benefit her in the end. Hopefully, this was not another dead end to countless roads. 

She had far to go; she knew that. But time was not on her side—not anymore. Her father's ill warning was at the center of her thoughts; the idea of death was not acceptable—not even to a machine. The idea of no longer functioning, no longer being in existence, was disturbing. Not to mention damn well annoying. Machines were supposed to surpass the lifespan of a human, and then some. 

The sound of screeching hinges shattered her thoughts. Her cerulean eyes focused upon a lovely heart-shaped face. 

"Hello." A pretty young lady asked with a warm smile. 

Yuffie stared at her with her expressionless eyes. "Is this the Anne Lockheart residence?" She asked in monotone. 

Anne's eyebrows pinched together in suspicion. "Yes? Can I help you?" 

"Do you know a Tifa Lockheart, by chance?" 

The woman's warm smile faded, her lips turning to an icy line. Her deep brown eyes widened, as her face paled. "Who are you?" She demanded in a harsh whisper. 

"Yuffie Kisaragi, daughter of Godo—" 

"My God, get in here!" She ordered, and pulled her unexpected guest through the door. 

Yuffie watched as the frantic, young woman quickly shut the door and bolted it. She watched her pace back and forth in a frenetic movement. Her proprietor's gaunt hands clasped together and settled under her chin. "Impossible," she muttered under her breath. "Damned impossible." 

She turned her chocolatey gaze upon Yuffie with question. "It can't be, can it?" She shook her head in disbelief. 

"Ms. Lockheart, do you know someone by the name of Tifa?" 

"Of course I do! She's me!" She exclaimed and narrowed her eyes. "However, if you are who you say you are, then why are you here, _Yuffie_?" 

"Tifa." She asked emotionlessly. "You looked familiar. You are older and taller, but the same nonetheless. Yuffie cannot believe you are still Tifa, though." 

Her warm smile returned, and her suspicions faded. "I cannot believe it's you! God, how long has it been, five, six years? Why are you here? Does Godo know you're gone? Why didn't you contact me before you came?" Tifa bombarded her childhood friend with myriad questions. 

"Five and a half years. Godo is dead, he was murdered by a group of assassins." She watched her friend's warm smile meld to a frown of sympathy. "Godo sent Yuffie on a mission to find a way to become human, before time runs out and Yuffie dies. Your address was not the same as it was. Someone else lives where you used to now." 

Tifa clicked her tongue in mock-disbelief. "Yuffie, you were always to the point. I'm sorry about your father, it must be hard for you to accept his death." 

"Death comes to all humans, it will happen to you as well. Acceptance is the only way to understand the concept behind it. Without acceptance, one cannot move on, and will dwell in utter doubt and disbelief." 

"Yuffie," Tifa began, silently putting aside her friend's morose belief. "What do you mean by becoming human? You are a machine. Machines cannot become living organisms. I thought you understood that." 

"Yuffie understood perfectly well, but was apparently wrong in that respect. Godo said that the only way to survive was to become human, and Yuffie must find a way before time is up." 

"_Time is up_? What do you mean when _time is up_?" 

"Yuffie will die." She ended without a hint of sadness. 

Tifa's mouth opened in disbelief. "That's impossible! You cannot die; you're a machine! Machines are not like humans, Yuffie." 

"Yuffie knows that." She answered in a hauntingly calm voice, her cerulean eyes boring into Tifa's. "But, there are factors behind the life of a machine. In Yuffie's case, Godo constructed a new body each year, so there would be no suspicion behind Yuffie's existence, and transferred all previous memory and data into the new body. He created a special formula to ensure everything worked properly. This formula will only last for one year. 

"After the year comes to an end, a new formula—and body—must take its place. Otherwise, the body would no longer function, and actions will cease. Yuffie will die if this happens." 

Tifa did not hide her concern, as hot tears escaped her eyes. "Oh, Yuffie, I'm so sorry. I did not know that this would happen. I always thought… Never mind, you'll stay here until we can figure out a way to help you." There was finality in her voice. 

Yuffie nodded in concurrence. "Yuffie thanks you, Tifa. You are truly Yuffie's friend." 

"Come on," Tifa said, wiping the tears from her face. "I'll show you around the apartment. I know it's nothing like what you're used to, but Midgar is not quite like Wutai. Space is not available, more's the pity." She gave a chuckle filled with irony. 

This was not a dead end, after all. She thought happily. Now that she found her friend, perhaps there would be a good chance to fulfil her promise to her father and become human. 

With that thought in mind, she considered the aspects of being human. It was common to cry, to feel pain. Anger, happiness, desperation were customary in the everyday day life of a person. Pain was also a gift humans could only feel—machines did not have that luxury. 

On the other hand, would becoming human be such a wonderful thing? There were many negative features that humans endured everyday, like starvation, depression, grief over the death of a loved one. She did not know what it felt like to cry, she didn't over her father's death. 

She forced the traitorous thoughts aside; her promise to her father would be kept—no matter the consequence. Even if she accepted a short life filled with pain, she would bear it without complaint. It was the least she could do for her father. "And this can be your room," Tifa murmured, breaking her thoughts. 

"Thank you, Tifa." She observed the small, messy guest room—if it could be called that. "Yuffie appreciated everything you have done." 

Tifa looked at her with guilt. "I haven't done anything, Yuffie. I should have been there for you. I should have kept in touch with you." She cursed under her breath. "Damn it, friends don't abandon friends, and I have. Yuffie, please forgive me." 

Yuffie gazed into Tifa's pleading eyes. "Yuffie forgives you, even though there is nothing to forgive." 

Her friend made a rueful sound. "There is much to forgive, and much to catch up with. I want to know everything you've done in the past four years. Come on, we'll talk over some tea." 

"Yuffie does not drink tea." 

"Oh, sorry, forgot about that. I'm not used to guests not eating or drinking, you know. Well, at least have a seat, you must be tired." 

She was about to object to her friend's conviction, but decided against it. It was actually good to see a familiar face after all she had endured within the past week. A light conversation over trivial matters seemed…welcoming, almost expected. Perhaps, this was also another humanly trait. Perhaps, becoming human would not be so difficult after all. 

Either way, she had less than a year to accomplish this in. The clock was ticking, and unfortunately, time was not on her side. 

How ironic.


	3. Chapter 2: L’ Boutique de la Belle

**_Artificial Intelligence_**

**_By Charles Xavier And Kittie_**

_Man is an animal who more than any other can adapt himself to all climates and circumstances. - Henry David Thoreau _

The city was an unending whirl of movement. A blur of poignant people passed by each other, not noticing those they elapsed. Cars overran the streets; the loud cacophony and congestion from the city entered the room, leaving the observer to breathe in the tainted, dismal atmosphere. 

Yuffie listened to the noise and considered the unnecessary clamour of people and their means of everyday survival. Why did one have to depend upon so many machines in order to live? Why didn't they depend mainly upon themselves as they had centuries before? 

Her thoughts were a contradiction, for she, was also a machine. 

"I see that you're taking in the city's aroma," Tifa said cheerily. "How do you like Midgar so far?" 

Cerulean eyes questioned the jovial statement. "Aroma? This city is comprised of foul smells and loud sounds. How can one stand this? How can one reside in such conditions?" 

"Yuffie, my friend, this is the city. One gets used to it after a while. You will adjust to it, too—eventually." 

"Yuffie very much doubts that. Yuffie feels only discomfort." 

Tifa stepped away from her friend and eyed her with deep intent. "Surely you see more than just the negative aspects of the city. I know the highlights of Midgar are too few, but when people move to a city, they must adjust to their surroundings." 

"Adaptation, correct?" 

Sighing heavily at the terse question, she nodded. "Yes, Yuffie, we adapt to our surroundings, whether we want to or not, its life." 

"Why?" 

She stared into Yuffie's cerulean eyes, the unnatural colour showing nothing but a blank expression. Her eyes were just like her face, expressionless. Tifa felt as if she were staring at the face of a doll, whose hollow eyes were both beautiful and daunting, the latter unnerving her composure. 

But this was her friend, a friend who needed her aid. How could she deny Yuffie when she herself was nothing more but an outsider? Her friend was living with a tainted lady, a pariah, and she was oblivious. Her sweet innocence shielded her from the horrid truth of her errant lifestyle. 

Two ladies. Both alike in disparity, in this fair city… She almost jeered at the tawdry parody. 

"You are lost in thought," Yuffie stated, her daunting eyes boring into her friend. 

"Ye—yes," Tifa stammered. "I suppose I was. Forgive me. I sometimes do that when I'm talking to someone." 

Yuffie turned her attention to the open window. "Father used to do that. One minute he was talking to Yuffie, then the next he was lost in thought. Yuffie would ask what was troubling him, but as always, he would evade the question, and say everything was fine." 

Tifa looked at her sympathetically. "Yuffie, I'm sure he didn't want to worry you with something that troubled him. I bet it was something trivial: you know how men are." 

"No, Yuffie does not." She eyed Tifa, her blunt expression showing the truth behind her words. 

Almost cringing from the realization, Tifa placed a comforting hand upon Yuffie's shoulder. "Sometimes it's better that you don't know some things," she muttered, her tone grave, and filled with warning. "Don't compel yourself to understand the world, Yuffie. It's better that you stay blissfully ignorant where the world is concerned." 

Yuffie said nothing to her friend's grim advice, something inside her mechanical mind forced her to heed Tifa's warning—look where it got her father. 

"Yuffie understands your point." 

Tifa mentally sighed. Well, at least it was not hard to convince her of anything. Yuffie would take most things as truth, unless something seemed blatant or questionable. That kind of trust could lead to a lot of trouble, but also make it easier for the other to coax what they wanted out of their naïve companion. 

But she was not like that; she refused to take advantage of her friend. How could she with all they had been through as children? She could never forget the kind acceptance from her friend, when the other children had shunned her. No, she would help Yuffie. No matter the cost. 

Shaking the thought aside, she glanced at the window, and then back to her silent friend. "How would you like a tour of the city? I'm not working today, and since I'm free I can give you a proper tour of the city. What do you say?" 

Yuffie gazed at Tifa, her expression showing a deep consideration to the kind offer. Without another moment's vacillation, she nodded. "Yes, Yuffie would like that. It would be beneficial to acquire such useful knowledge." 

Without replying to Yuffie's calculative comment, Tifa gently smiled. "I'll grab my coat. Do…do you need one, Yuffie?" she asked, noticing her friend's bare arms. "It's raining out, and I have an extra…" 

"If you find it necessary, then so should Yuffie. Thank you." 

Handing her an older, worn raincoat, Tifa opened the door, and nodded. "Well, come along then. As the saying goes, "there is so much to see, and so little time to do it in…" Or was it, "see it in?" I cannot remember. Simple quotations have apparently left my mind at the moment, I fear." 

"Why would you fear that?" 

Tifa shook her head. "Never mind. It's only a figure of speech; an expression, if you will." 

"Expression?" 

"Never mind! I'll discuss it on the way! Come on, let's enjoy the day without having a deep discussion on the meaning of life." 

Yuffie was about to inquire on what exactly was the meaning of life, but found it wise to hold her questions for a more appropriate time. It appeared that her friend was growing annoyed with her unending bout of uncertainty. Why did she have that effect on people? She could not understand why they would become so irritated. Was it not an honour to explain, or answer a question? Humans were truly strange mammals. 

**** 

The city was teeming with activity. The unending bustle of machines, sounds, and people proved that this place was a major source of life on the planet. It was no wonder why people in neighbouring countries detested Midgar—the city also detested itself. 

Yuffie followed Tifa's lead through the crowded streets. Her friend had a strange instinct of moving and dodging others. Machines were produced to be faster, more dexterous than their creators, and yet her friend was proving her ingrained beliefs otherwise. 

She did not stop until almost colliding against Tifa's back. Her friend gave a quick smile and pointed to a sign, its neon-orange glow making her squint against its obscure luminosity. The sign was decourated with large, unreadable symbols, symbols, which she did not recogise. 

She hesitated for a moment, and then gently tugged upon Tifa's wet coat sleeve. "What is this place?" she murmured under her breath. 

Tifa smiled at her fondly as if she were a naïve child. "This, my dear, is a dress shop." She stopped, noticing Yuffie's puzzlement. "It sales apparel for females." She pointed to her friend's sodden attire. "In your case, you're in need of their services." 

"Yuffie's case?" she mimicked. "Yuffie's attire is suitable." 

"Not for this weather." Tifa rubbed her covered arms. "You must be freezing in those shorts. How in God's name do you wear them when it is this cold?" 

"Yuffie does not feel temperature." She stated matter-of-factly. "Godo built a program to eliminate weaknesses that an average human might feel. He said that they were imperfections that Yuffie did not need." 

"I'm sorry. I did not realise…I forgot about that." She amended. 

"It's human to forget." 

God, another cryptic statement… Perhaps she could change her friend's cool demeanor by the end of the day. Of course, she doubted that prospect. It would take days, even years to break her friend of the one-syllable jargon and expressionless stares. 

Shoving the thought aside, she clasped her friend's hands and ushered her towards the door. "Come on," she muttered. "Let's get you out of those wet clothes; you're freezing me just by looking at you." 

"Yuffie can freeze you?" she asked with true confusion. "How—" 

"Never mind!" Tifa growled. "Now, come on. The outfit is on me." 

Yuffie stared at her friend with a perplexed expression. The outfit was on her? Perhaps it was another figure of speech. It was a pity her father did not implant a program that verified rhetorical expressions or even slang words. It appeared everyone on the Eastern Continent spoke in the broken-down, illogical phrases that were devised in a normal conversation. It was damn well confusing for a machine that rationalised in perfect word structure and phrases. 

But it was one of the things she had to know. In order to keep her promise, she would have to adapt to her surroundings, even if it meant betraying all reason. Perhaps that was what separated man from machine—a breach of understanding; and also that machines did not have feelings—emotions—that humans were gifted with. It was ironic that man took everything so lightly, and unfortunately, for granted. 

She observed the shop with innate awe. Drapes of burgundy hung on metal valances, which obscured the translucent windowpanes. Hunter-green rugs covered the scarred floorboards in a modest attempt to convey a sense of beauty. Mismatched pieces of furniture were strewn about the room, holding various articles of apparel. A large candelabrum hung in the center of the room, its golden splendour, capturing the attention of its viewers. 

Yuffie watched as other girls rummaged through multitudes of clothing, verbally debating their opinions. 

"Oh, this miniskirt would so be perfect for tonight!" a blonde-headed girl exclaimed, flashing a decadently low black miniskirt. 

Her companion looked at the skirt skeptically. Rolling her placid green eyes, she muttered, "Yeah, and your fat ass would draw all of the attention. Why can you not be more elegant in your choice of clothing? Why do you always have to choose something that makes you look like a poorly-paid prostitute?" 

The blonde glared at her friend, taking offense to the cruel criticism. "For you information, Lara, I am not a prostitute. And even I were, I at least have taste." She cast an insidious look at Lara's khaki shorts. "While you still play with the boys like a five-year-old. Do you realize that you look like an idiot with those sunglasses on? I mean, come on, it's raining outside!" 

Lara crossed her arms and turned away. "Fine. Make a fool of yourself. At least I was honest in my opinion—" 

"An opinion, which is not wanted," her friend cut in. 

She did not answer the rejoinder. Instead she glanced at the door and noticed two young ladies, who were apparently watching their argument. Making her way over to them, she removed her dark sunglasses and smiled. 

"Welcome to L' Boutique de la Belle! I'm Lara, the owner. May I help you with anything?" she inquired, grinning at her customers. 

Tifa returned Lara's grinning gesture. "Yes, as a matter of fact, you can." She looked at Yuffie's attire with a disapproving expression. "My friend needs another outfit." 

Lara regarded her customer's friend with a gentle nod. "I see," she murmured, looking at Yuffie's shorts. "The choice does you justice, my dear. But perhaps there is something else you may like? I know shorts are a little out of season, and I also wear them, but I'm an eccentric, too." She grasped Yuffie's frigid hand. "Would you care to look at a few things? I'm sure you may find something you like." 

Yuffie gave a curt nod, and reluctantly followed the woman, hoping this day would soon be over with. 

**** 

If irritation could best describe her mood, she would sorely reprimand the poor idiot who named the term so defectively. All day, she went through the horrid process of stripping down to her knickers, and then dressing herself into another horrid garment. 

How could humans actually go out in public like this? she wondered. It was like wearing an outfit in a poorly constructed freak show, where she, was the pitiful attraction. 

She gazed into the mirror with undetectable disdain. Her left hand trailed down the horrid polyester fabric of her right arm. Even the fabric felt unreal, unnatural to her. The denim pair of jeans made it almost impossible to maneuver in, and the pearl-studded choker around her neck was galling to say the least. 

Shaking her unruly locks of russet, she pulled the dressing room curtain away and stared into the expectant eyes of her friend. 

"Well?" Tifa prodded. "How do you like it?" 

"Yuffie could not move in this if she tried," she muttered. "Do humans wear such uncomfortable clothing?" 

Tifa's smile faded. This was hopeless. Clenching her hands in unspoken annoyance, she pulled another outfit from a nearby rack. She forced Yuffie into the dressing room and closed the curtain behind them. 

"I know this is usually looked down upon by other ladies, and most of your average males would have a field-day with this, but I don't care." She carefully pulled Yuffie's chartreuse blouse over her head. 

"Why would they care?" Yuffie asked, her voice soft. 

"Well, for one thing, most women would think something along the lines of us being more than friends… And secondly, men enjoy seeing two girls undressing each other. It's something in their malformed, testosterone minds that compels them to watch… Voyeurs, if you will." She refused to elaborate more on the subject. 

"That's very odd…" 

"I know," Tifa snorted with disgust. "Most men will also take advantage of a decent girl. They believe that the "fairer sex" is fragile, weak, and above all, lacking intelligence. Men will use you, then leave you," her voice whispered softly, as she looked deeply into Yuffie's hollow eyes. "Here's the best piece of advice you'll ever receive: Never trust a man. Never let the bastard in. He will break you if you allow him to." 

Tifa's cryptic words did not go unwarranted. Yuffie stored the advice carefully away within her mind's file banks for later examination. She nodded with apparent appreciated for her friend's morose opinion. "Thank you, Tifa. Yuffie shall remember it." 

An empty smile breached Tifa's rosy lips as a hint of mirth returned to her dark eyes. "Good. Now, come on, we need to see if this fits," she said, clasping a grated corset around Yuffie's slender frame. 

Four hours later Yuffie found herself back in Tifa's apartment, physically altered and unmoved by today's events. She lifted her right arm, but found it to a daunting task when she tried to raise it a few inches. 

She inwardly frowned at the constraint. Not only did Tifa buy her a few outfits, she also made sure that their bindings were tight, making it almost impossible to move in. 

Closing her eyes, she tried to register her breathing, albeit she did not need to. It was a small, unimportant trait her father installed into her memory—the innate feature to breathe. Perhaps it was a merely a tactic to camouflage her artificiality, or maybe her father wanted her to look human, be more than she truly was. 

Yuffie never questioned Godo Kisaragi's motives—she found no need to, taking everything her father did for granted. It was against her programming to question his judgment, or at least it felt that way. Paternal dominance. 

Her mind drifted upon the image of her father. She remembered the faint smile that always touched the corners of his lips when he was in good humour, or the gentle shaking of his graying head when he found something amusing. 

Rarely did she notice him upset, or even distraught for that matter. Most of the time he displayed happiness, a sense of happiness, which was unlike others who only wore a jovial façade. Why did his life have end so abruptly. Why did he have to leave her so alone. 

She felt lost here, uncertain. 

Yuffie inwardly frowned as she thoughtlessly tugged at the corset under her blouse. It was strange that so much discomfort derived from such a small thing. The brace within the fabric felt as if it would rupture her insides, not to mention the lace netting irritating her flesh. Overall, the thing was too damned uncomfortable. Why did humans have to wear such uncomfortable items of clothing? 

Biting her lower lip, her fingers moved deftly over the infuriating garment. Her task to unfasten the back laces left her completely irritated when she could not loosen it. Good God, what did it take to rid one's self of something so trivial? If Tifa suggested another corset, or whatever she had called them, she would have to decline her friend's sweet offer. 

With that thought in mind, she tried once more, pulling at the unyielding bindings. Shaking her head in abject anger, she wrenched at the corset, but found her fuming attempts in vain. A heavy breath escaped her as her mind began to ache. She saw a myriad of colours fusing with various bits of information before her eyes. 

Her head arched back as a black obscurity clouded her sight. Yuffie closed her unnatural, cerulean eyes in silent defeat. Her limbs went slack, her knees buckled, and she fell against the carpeted floor. 

Her unexpected action could be considered as the equivalent of a human fainting. When too much information or frustration inundated a machine's mind, it would overexert itself, break, and eventually go into a suspended state of dormancy. 

Before her mechanical thoughts exceeded to that point, Yuffie noticed Tifa. She heard her friend mutter something as she knelt beside of her, but could not decipher Tifa's incoherent words. She turned away to face the stained carpet, giving in to the darkness, giving in to the logical sense a machine knew. 

**** 

Tifa glanced at Yuffie's prone form on the sofa, and sighed. It was strange that a machine could faint—if that was even the word for it. 

Yuffie's fall had startled her, and the sight of it was even more frightening. She could not shake the unnerving feeling, which lingered down her spine. Yuffie set her on edge; that was for certain. 

Tifa's hands pulled away from the dirty dishwater. Yuffie's state of suspension was more than she could bear. Placing a damp head upon her forehead, Tifa wiped away the unruly locks of russet. She gently smiled at Yuffie's angelic countenance. If only such innocence could be so genuine, she mused. 

She glanced at Yuffie's attire and silently berated herself. It was foolish of her to strap her friend in such a godawful prison; even she hated to wear them. But she believed Yuffie would fit in more with the public. It thoughtless, and she felt guilty for it. 

"Forgive me, Yuffie," she murmured in regret. "I only wanted to make you look more…human." 

Tifa turned away, shame staining her bronzed cheeks. Her friend could not hear her. And if Yuffie's collapse persisted, she would have to find help, which could possibly endanger her… 

She rubbed her aching temples in unspoken regret. Her promise to help her friend was on the verge of becoming a lie, and she hated to lie. No, she would help Yuffie, even if it meant jeopardizing her in the process. At least she could find a way to provide for her until she could find someone who could actually give the help Yuffie needed. 

Grabbing her friend's cold hands, she held them tightly in hers. "I promised you that I would help—and I shall. You have my word, Yuffie." A deep sigh escaped her. "You have my word." 

Tifa glanced at the closed window. Now if only she could fulfill that promise… But in her mind, she new Yuffie would need more than a few simple, placating words, she needed someone who could—would—be the one to help her. And she knew that her friend would not receive that from her. But who was the question…


End file.
